


Fireproof

by dansunedisco



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Firefighters, F/F, Fire, Firefighter Raven Reyes, Hopeful Ending, Near Death Experiences, Student Clarke Griffin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3431735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansunedisco/pseuds/dansunedisco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Clarke startles awake into absolute chaos. Her smoke detector is screaming, her lungs feel like they’re on literal fire, curls of gray smoke are billowing from her kitchen door, and it sounds like someone’s taking a battering ram to her front door.</i>
</p><p>Clarke, the fire, and the aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireproof

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theyoungestzerogmechanic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theyoungestzerogmechanic/gifts).



> Tumblr fic originally posted [here](http://punkcorahale.tumblr.com/post/111805204473/princess-mechanic-i-keep-setting-my-kitchen).

Clarke startles awake into absolute _chaos._ Her smoke detector is screaming, her lungs feel like they’re on literal fire, curls of gray smoke are billowing from her kitchen door, and it sounds like someone’s taking a battering ram to her front door. 

 _Oh no_ doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

Clarke flips off the couch on to her hands and knees, utterly disoriented, heart lurching, brain unable to piece it all together. It’s a side effect of oxygen deprivation--no, _smoke inhalation_. Both? Thankfully, the air is a little clearer down by the dust bunnies and she gasps it in, just in time to see her door smash inward off its hinges and then black out.

She comes to outside. A scratchy blanket is wrapped around her shoulders and she’s wearing an oxygen mask. She feels like she’s wrapped in heavy wool; her throat is scratchy, like she swallowed glass, her movements sluggish. It’s noisy, too. People yelling, sirens wailing, a distant rushing roar. She _knows_ something bad happened, but can’t, for the life of her, remember what. She sits up and tries to pull the mask off, to ask the people running back and forth what the hell is going on, but she’s stopped by a gentle hand and an even gentler, “Stop that.” 

Clarke looks up, about to argue, but stops short. Because, _oh god no_ , the firewoman from the station down the street--the one who Clarke absolutely does _not_ watch while she washes the fire engines down, the one whom she very innocently learned was named Raven--is standing next to her in her firefighting pants and the station’s dark blue t-shirt. Her hair is pulled back, a white bandana hanging loose around her neck. She’s keeping a steadying hand on Clarke’s back, but mostly paying attention somewhere off in the distance. The touch is nice, sure, but where there are firemen, there’s usually--

Her gaze swings up and over to her apartment building. _Fire,_ she thinks. It’s on freakin’ _fire_. The windows above her studio are shattered, waves of orange and red licking up and out. Three fire trucks are parked in a semicircle in the lot, countless hoses dousing the building with water. She was inside.She was _inside_. 

She came home early, her afternoon class cancelled because her professor didn’t want to walk two miles in the snow. No one wanted to. She remembers coming home, studying for her econ test, settling down on the couch to watch The Blacklist on Netflix. She must have fallen asleep sometime after, and now- 

“You doin’ okay?” Raven asks. 

Clarke realizes that she’s clutching Raven’s arm now--must have grabbed hold when the reality of the situation, that she could have burned to death, sank in. “Yeah,” she tries to say, but it comes out as a wheezy whisper, so she just nods instead.

 

-

 

It takes three weeks for the insurance claim to process.

It takes another two on top of that for Clarke to acknowledge how close she came to--meeting her end. Not that’s she’s okay with it. Not by a longshot. It took two days to get all the soot out of her nose, the smell of ash and smoke off her skin. All of her belongings are gone, save for the sweatpants, t-shirt, and hoodie she was wearing when the firefighters dragged her to safety. She’s couchsurfing, dealing with her mother’s frequent calls; wavering between wondering if moving so far away from home was the right choice or the easy one.

It was a freak accident anyway. The tenant above her left their portable space heater on, sparking an electrical fire that, thankfully, took no lives. It was a miracle, the papers said, almost everyone in the complex gone to work because the worst of the snowstorm had passed.

Clarke was the only one who needed a rescue.

The only upside is that the university was being surprisingly tolerant of her absence, her advisor even talking about a no-penalty semester deferment. It sounds too good to be true, but it’s not, somehow. 

In the end, it doesn’t matter. She’s just thankful she’s alive.

 

-

 

It’s springtime before Clarke thinks about Raven again.

It’s a Wednesday. All of her morning classes are through. It’s a nice day out, so she bikes around town, breathing in the fresh air, taking in the sunlight. It’s peaceful, after a brutal winter season.

Her hands guide her back towards her old apartment building. It’s still under construction, but there’s no way she’ll ever move back in--even if that was an option. She passes the fire station, too, neck craning to see--what, she doesn’t know, but her heart skips when she sees a glimpse of long dark hair swing around a corner. 

 _I never thanked her,_ she thinks, and it’s just all too easy to turn, change directions to the entrance of the bay where two trucks sit shiny and clean in the drive. She hops off before he can lose her nerve and kicks the stand out and settles the bike, ready to start snooping, but startles when Raven pops around the corner.

“Can I help you?” she asks. She’s wearing that dark blue t-shirt again, but khaki pants this time. Her hair is back as well, a braid hanging over her shoulder, and she’s smiling--like she doesn’t remember Clarke at all.

“Um--” she starts, suddenly feeling pretty foolish. It’s not like the station keeps a running tally of their good deeds. But, still, she needs to say it. “I just wanted to, uh, say thanks. A few months ago you guys--” she mimes something with her hands, drops them. “--I just want to say thanks.”

Raven tilts her head, looking confused for all but a second before recognition sparks in her eyes. “Oh, no, you are so welcome,” she says. “Sorry, I just--you look different.” 

“Different?”

“Well,” she half-shrugs, gestures at Clarke’s clothes.

And Clarke laughs when she gets it, even though it’s not really funny, but-- _it is_ , too. “When I’m not wrapped in a shock blanket?” 

Raven groans. “No, I’m so sorry--that’s, it’s so unprofessional of me. I mean, you look good, and I’m glad you’re okay. I’m Raven.” 

“Thanks,” she says, still smiling. Not mentioning she already knows Raven’s name. “Again. I’m Clarke.”

Raven smiles back, motions to the station. “Clarke. Cool. Do you think you--want a tour? It’s just me and a few losers on duty, so.” 

She nods, and follows Raven inside and--hey, they always said beautiful things bloom after the fire.


End file.
